Fear
by TheVillageOfBree
Summary: "I can take out a dragon without suffering so much as a scratch, but a group of Orlesians in fancy dress reduce me to tears." Cullen/Lavellan


When Faylen stood in the war room for the first time she was sure she would never feel so out of place again in her life, she remembered looking up at the other members of the council and feeling so inadequate, she wasn't supposed to lead and she wasn't going to. Yet here she was, leader of the Inquisition and at a ball hosted by an Orlesian empress.  
Josephine's first words when they reached the doors of the palace had scared her. _The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the Death._ Faylen wasn't good with words, she couldn't lie to save her life. She wasn't good with _people_. Once they were inside she'd excused herself from the group and ran down the nearest corridor, when she was sure no one could see her she'd sunk to the ground and sobbed, the elf spent a good few minutes crying to herself out of sight and another few trying her best not to throw up all over the meticulously clean tiles. She didn't belong here and she had never felt more afraid. When she did finally manage to pull herself up and wipe the tears from her eyes she couldn't help but continually fiddle with the formal attire Josephine had picked out for everyone, it fit perfectly but it was just so uncomfortable to wear. Truthfully, she'd been hoping for a dress, that way at least it would be easier to blend in with the crowds, but the bright blue and red ensemble she was wearing destroyed any hope she had of going unseen. At least all other Inquisition members were wearing the same thing, which made is somewhat less embarrassing she supposed.

As she walked through the vestibule, Faylen tried her best to keep her eyes focussed on things that she knew, Bull's horns, Varric's ponytail, Cullen's shoulders. This helped her to block out some of the things the other guests were saying, but every now and again something like, "The Inquisitor? An elf? How _ghastly!_ " would slip through. With a shaky sigh she attempted to cover her pointed ears with her hair, but it was far too short to make any substantial improvement.

"You doing okay, boss?" Bull asked and Faylen shrugged, honestly grateful that someone cared to ask.

"I'm fine. Everyone just keeps saying things about me. I don't appreciate all the attention." She admitted.

This was a fact most were already aware of, during a battle she preferred somewhere high, a tree, a rock, and she'd manage the fight from up there, out of the line of fire and out of the line of sight. Cullen once described her as a Mage who fought like a rogue, she found that oddly funny. She didn't believe in the Maker, or in the Elven gods. She believed in what she saw, what she heard. The elf held no judgement towards whatever beliefs others had, as long as they weren't trying to parade her around as the prophet of someone she didn't even believe in. Which everyone was certainly doing at the Winter Palace. There was no climbing a tree here, it was hand to hand combat or nothing, or face to face she supposed. Not the best environment for an elven mage.

"I'll kill them if you need me to" Bull offered with a shrug, "this party is boring anyway."

Faylen snorted, "I'll keep that in mind"

Josephine pushed open a set of double doors and suddenly they were in the ballroom, Faylen's heart leapt to her throat at the sight of all those people and the urge to cry resurfaced. They were immediately lead down a set of stairs where they waited to be introduced to the Empress herself. An Orlesian man came and stood beside her and she finally remember that she had an escort for the evening, she'd been too worried to notice, her eyes scanned around looking for something familiar, something to ground her. Leliana's braid, Sera's teeth, Josephine's smile. Cullen's shoulders, always Cullen's shoulders. She shook that thought from her head, just in time to hear someone formally announcing the group.

"Just smile, Inquisitor." Leliana whispered in her ear, "Remember, it's all part of the Game."

"Announcing Grand Duke Gaspard De Chalons" the speaker began and the Orlesian man stepped forwards, Faylen closed her eyes. "And accompanying him Lady Inquisitor Faylen Lavellan"

She stepped forward and smiled to the crowd, feeling the tips of her ears and her freckled cheeks burning. It was only when the speaker added, "champion of the blessed Andraste herself!" that she found herself faulting, the words _Andraste didn't send me_ burned at the back of her throat, but she forced them back. As she walked towards the Empress, everything else faded away, safe thoughts were running through her head at lightning speed. _Bull's horns, Varric's ponytail, Cullen's shoulders, Leliana's braid, Sera's teeth, Josephine's smile, Cullen's shoulders._ She didn't want to say anything stupid, or blunt, honestly blunt was more the issue. She was known to be rather crass, but she'd been working on it as best she could. Comforting thoughts helped. Thoughts about _Cullen_ helped. She scrunched her nose at where her own trail of thought had lead her and waited until the group was dismissed before rushing to the closest balcony. She bumped into several other guests on her way out and tried her very best to maintain a brisk walk and nothing faster. When she found a balcony she immediately perched herself on the banister, legs hanging over the edge and took a deep breath, savouring the cool breeze. A footstep on the tiles startled her, she turned around and breathed a relived sigh. It was just Cullen.

"Do you think jumping from this height would kill me?" She asked him shakily, her green eyes staring at the ground a few storeys down.

Cullen laughed uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck, "uh, no, I don't think so. But you'd end up with broken legs at the very least, not advisable for making quick escapes." He shot her a lopsided smirk, "I'm sure a quick escape was your intention?"

Faylen smiled, "You know me too well, Commander. I don't like it here, everyone is hiding something and I don't like _secrets_."

Cullen rested his elbows on the banister she was sitting on, "I don't like it either, but you've done very well, Inquisitor."

The elf couldn't help but grimace at the title, "Not Inquisitor and especially not the Herald of _bloody Andraste_. Just call me Faylen, please. I mean, it's my name?"

"You'll have to stop calling me commander."

Faylen blinked, "but you _are_ the commander."

"And you _are_ the Inquisitor and where most people are concerned you're the Herald of Andraste as well."

Faylen visibly cringed, "I'm a terrible leader. I wasn't born to lead, I was born to, I dunno…annoy people? Make offensive jokes by accident?"

Cullen stifled a laugh and tried to hide it with a cough, badly, "You've been doing a good job. Whether you were born to be a leader or not, you are, and you're good at it."

"Did I ever tell you about how I ended up at the Conclave?" She asked, pushing some of her hair out of her face.

"No, I don't think you did."

Faylen chuckled, "Well, how much do you know of the Dalish?"

Cullen shrugged, "A little, I suppose I have a basic understanding."

"Well, you know how every clan has a Keeper?" Cullen nodded and Faylen continued, "the Keeper has an apprentice, called their First who will one day take over their role, but because the Keeper is always a mage and often not too many mages are born to one clan, there is usually only one elf eligible to become First."

"I suppose that was you?"

"Yep. I was only young, then, on the older side of 12, not old enough to take up the role yet, but old enough to start training. Once the decision was made I ran and hid out in the woods for a time, taking refuge in one of the trees until the Keeper came and coaxed me down. The thought of all that _responsibility_ had terrified me. She said that I didn't have to worry yet, but someday I would." The elf sighed deeply and looked down at her toes, "I was considered selfish when I was young and now I suppose that everyone was right. When it was decided that one of our clan would go to the Conclave to find out what was going on I volunteered, I'd been the clan's First for a good eleven years and had _hated_ it, all the responsibility, knowing that one day the Keeper would leave us and I'd be the one the clan looked to for guidance. She was already beginning to feel unwell and she told me that I needed to be ready, that I'd be Keeper before year's end. I panicked and decided I was going to the Conclave and never coming back."

"And now you're the Inquisitor."

She snorted, "Yes, I can only imagine the Keeper's face when she discovered that. I feel like my life has just been one horrible stream of bad luck, honestly."

"If you don't mind me asking…" Cullen began, "What has stopped you from running this time?"

Faylen sighed and hung her head, "I _can't_ run this time. My clan could survive without me, they'd find another Keeper eventually, someone _better_ , but this…" She waved her marked hand around angrily, "I'm the only one who has this _damned_ mark, it _has_ to be me and I hate it."

The elf took a deep breath and clenched her hands, the drop from the balcony was looking more and more tempting every second. That was when she felt another hand wrap around hers and she almost fell from her perch in sheer surprise. Cullen didn't acknowledge the sudden display of affection, he was still looking out across the courtyard while his thumb stroked the back of her fingers absentmindedly. Faylen's heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest and she could feel her cheeks burning again, she couldn't fathom what this meant, but she knew what she wanted it to mean. She glanced at him, out of the corner of her eye. His mouth was curled up in a soft smile, almost relieved, and for the first time that night she felt unafraid, Cullen was warm, Cullen was _safe_.

"I know it won't make you feel any better." He began, "But for what it's worth, I couldn't imagine anyone leading the Inquisition in your place."

She laughed, "And I couldn't imagine leading it without you at my side. It's hard enough as it is."

with a deep breath she and swivelled around before sliding off her perch, feet making barely any noise against the tiles, "I'm going to have to go back in eventually, aren't I?"

Cullen looked at her sadly, "I'm afraid so."

Faylen inhaled shakily, already ashamed of what she was about to say, "Cullen. I'm scared."

"I know." He whispered, his hand seeking hers again and linking their fingers together, "But you can do this. I believe in you."

Tears were prickling in the corners of her eyes, but she forced a smile, "I can take out a dragon without suffering so much as a scratch, but a group of Orlesians in fancy dress reduce me to tears."

Cullen cupped her face in his hand, her breath caught in her throat, "There's no reason to be ashamed. We all have our own fears, Faylen."

Before she could stop and think of the consequences, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. Cullen was warm. Cullen was _safe_.

"Thank you."


End file.
